


Still Got It

by stardropdream



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 00:50:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5227571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aramis needs reassurance that The Stare (not what he calls it) is still working.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still Got It

**Author's Note:**

> Another tumblr drabble request for: "Someone tells Aramis his Stare is bullshit, and with his confidence broken, he decides he's just out of practice. Who better to work as testing subject than his bff Porthos?"

Madame wasn’t rude when she dismissed him. No, she was cordial as always. But, Aramis did spend the better part of a month trying to seduce her, unleashed everything he had in his arsenal to do so. Eventually, she’d taken pity on him, touched his cheek. (“Oh darling,” she said with a small smile, “You really should stop giving me such eyes. It really isn’t as charming as you think.”)

Now he’s a moody mess, quite pointedly without a new mistress, and sitting at the tavern table that he and the others usually favor. He isn’t usually one for copious amounts of drinking – that’s reserved mostly for Athos, followed closely by Porthos – but tonight he lets himself indulge with a downtrodden frown into the cup. 

It isn’t long before Porthos joins him, as he usually does, tugging off his hat and scrubbing his hand over his hair with a grunt. The din in the tavern picks up again, lessened only when Porthos stepped in (a common occurrence he shrugs off now but always puts Aramis’ hackles up). He’s still moody and can only let out a low protesting whine when Porthos takes his cup and takes a long drink from it.

“What’s wrong?” Porthos asks, but there’s the crinkle of a smile teasing at the edge of his lips – meaning he’s prepared to tease Aramis and is, as always, horribly insensitive to all of the great pains that Aramis suffers. 

“It hardly matters,” Aramis whines out, looks away into the roaring fire halfway across the tavern. He lets out a long sigh.

Porthos chuckles – the fiend, the utter unsympathetic fiend – and rises to go get more to drink now that he’s drained Aramis’ cup. 

The thought occurs to him as he watches Porthos sit down across from him again, slide a cup of wine forward for him and nurses his own. He’s out of practice. That’s all. Madame knows so very little about his usual pursuits and attentions. It’s natural that she might be immune to such things, considering how many suitors she must have. It’s been a long time since he’s had a challenge.

So he tips his chin down and smiles slow at Porthos, drags his fingertips over the lip of his cup. “Thank you, my friend.”

Porthos grunts and waggles his eyebrows once before he takes a drink and looks around. Aramis refuses to pout and merely waits, letting his head tilt, letting his hair fall to frame his face and curl a bit over one cheek. He even lifts a hand to rest his chin on his palm, smiling slow at Porthos when he catches his eye again.

Porthos’ lip twitches and he asks, “Are you drunk already?”

“Not at all,” Aramis says, and takes a long drink from his cup – not taking his eyes away from Porthos. 

Porthos shrugs and offers a game of cards. Aramis indulges him, already knowing he’ll lose – but at least Porthos takes pity on him and proposes a friendly game without any true betting. Aramis just bats his eyelashes at him and smiles wider in thanks.

The cards fold out between them, worn and gentle at the edges after so much use. Porthos is good with his hands only in these moments, threading the cards together as he shuffles, his fingertips light and ghosting, quick enough that it’s only because Aramis is practiced in his tricks that he even sees the king dash up his sleeve. 

The night progresses slowly, but by the end of the night, when Aramis is in Porthos’ bed, he lets himself feel significantly smug, smirking up at the ceiling in the darkness.

“I knew I still had it,” Aramis says to the ceiling.

Porthos, down between his legs, snorts and rolls his eyes and bites down at his hip. “Pay attention, you idiot.”


End file.
